The hosts of my blog – WordPress – put dodgy ads on my website to make a buck since I don’t pay them anything.
In recent weeks they’ve been spruiking skin tag treatments to me.
It’s like they’ve looked deep in my soul to discover what’s bothering me so they can exploit my fear.
I’ve never searched “how to get rid of skin tags” but I’ve overthought it in my head plenty of times.
I’ve always had them. There was one on my boob on my wedding day – a male guest tried to brush it off at the reception.
Now that I come to think of it, that was HIGHLY inappropriate of him.
Currently there are teeny tiny ones down my neck under my hair. I don’t think anyone can see them, but I can’t stop touching them and shuddering.
I hate, hate, hate them!
But how does WordPress know that? How?
In other news, I worked from home yesterday to escape the industrial fan noise and allow me to wobble off for naps between writing booze stories.
Fortunately/unfortunately there was an edible geography project on the kitchen bench to keep my virus-depleted energy levels up.
The youngest had to film herself making Uluru out of cake.
Uluru. Out. Of. Cake.
It was very last minute, very stressful and very messy.
I have a request for geography teachers … actually for anyone who isn’t teaching my child to cook … can school projects not involve baking?
They’re really not my favourite, especially when they involve orange food dye.
My waistline isn’t thanking the geography teacher either. That big orange mound – which, just quietly, looks nothing like Uluru – taunts me every time I go past, so I cut another sliver.
I may have to go on a diet after Easter … going on a diet before Easter would be foolhardy with all that chocolate and all those hot cross buns in my future.
Why don’t I ever get illnesses that put me off my tucker?
Song of the day: Goanna “Solid Rock”
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